TITLE: Every Man Has His Price
SPOILER STATEMENT: Pretty much the entire Mytharc, and assorted MOTW's up to
but not including Two Fathers/One Son (U.S. Season 6), which seem not to have
happened in this universe.
RATING: PG-13
CONTENT STATEMENT: MSR. MulderAngst. Post-XF. Kidfic.
CLASSIFICATION: VRA
SUMMARY: A father watches his daughter at play.
THANKS: To Brynna, Paulette, Sara Lynn, Shannon & Trixie ... for the usual ....
AUTHOR'S NOTES: At the end this time.
Every Man Has His Price
by Brandon D. Ray
A father watches his daughter at play.
She's an exuberant child, he thinks. Bright, beautiful and full of the
boundless energy and enthusiasm of the very young. A few months ago she passed
her fourth birthday, and she has never known anything but love and kindness.
She has not yet learned that people can be cruel. She does not yet know about
the monsters.
The father shakes his head and pushes the thought away. This is not the time
for such things. Not now; not when his four year old daughter is happily
springing from rock to rock as she crosses the cheerfully bubbling brook that
runs behind their home, her hair flashing red in the late afternoon sunlight.
Her mother is with her, of course, wading along in the shallow, fast-running
water, holding the little girl's hand to steady her. The mother does not hold
the child's hand so tightly as she has in years past, or even so tightly as she
did earlier in the summer -- but she is holding it nonetheless. Trying to
strike a balance between the mother's desire to protect and the child's growing
need to be free.
He loves both these people; he loves them beyond all reason. After his sister
was taken he swore to himself he would never allow anyone to come between him
and his quest to find her. He promised himself that he would permit no
distractions, and that nothing would cause him to turn aside from his necessary
task.
And yet it has happened. He still misses his sister terribly, even after all
these years, and sometimes in the pre-dawn darkness his heart aches at the loss.
But the woman and child he is watching now have burrowed their way into his
heart, slowly but surely, until the very thought of living without either of
them has become unbearable.
The mother was first, of course.
# # #
It happened at the end of a case. It happened after Eugene Tooms, or after
Donnie Pfaster, or after Phillip Padgett. It happened after the trip to the
Norwegian Sea, or after the boxcar fire in New Mexico, or after the visit to the
haunted house in Maryland. They had almost lost each other, and they could no
longer deny their feelings.
Mulder stood for a moment in the connecting doorway, looking into his partner's
motel room. He knew she was aware of his presence. He knew it from the set of
her shoulders and the almost imperceptible hesitation of her fingers as they
raced across the keyboard of her laptop. But she did not look up from her work;
that was not the way they did things.
Finally, he spoke.
"Scully, I can't do this any longer."
She knew what he meant. From the flicker of her eyelashes he could tell: She
understood. Despite this she retained control, and reacted just as he had
anticipated, taking a few more seconds to finish the paragraph she was typing
before powering down her laptop and carefully closing the lid. Finally, she
turned slightly in her chair to face him. But she did not speak.
"Come on, Scully," he said at last, when he could no longer bear her silence.
"You know what I'm talking about." Work with me on this, he thought in quiet
desperation. Help me, Scully. Save me. Save us both.
She held her posture just a moment longer; then she sighed and nodded slowly.
"Okay, Mulder," she said. "Okay. I can't do it anymore either. Not without
you." And she rose from her chair as he walked towards her, and he took her in
his arms and kissed her.
# # #
His daughter has crossed the brook, and now she's climbing laboriously up the
far bank. Her mother hovers anxiously behind her, trying not to interfere, but
ready to reach out and catch the girl if necessary.
They will never be truly safe, of course. He knows this, and so does his wife.
None of the three of them are secure. Their enemies will always be watching,
and unlike this child's parents, *they* will not hesitate to intervene, if it
suits their purposes. Those gray, anonymous men have long since abdicated their
humanity, and they will use any means necessary to achieve their ends.
It is for this very reason that he held off for so long. As early as their
second year of partnership, he knew that he loved her, and he suspected that she
loved him. If the search for his sister had been the only issue he would have
acted on those feelings, and let the consequences be damned.
But his quest was not the only thing at stake. Even before he was clear in his
own mind how he felt about his partner, their enemies had demonstrated that they
were willing -- and able -- to use her as a weapon against him. The months when
she was missing were the longest of his life; he barely survived them. And had
she not lived, he would surely have followed her into the darkness.
So he tried to deny his feelings for this woman, and keep her at arm's length.
But he couldn't do it in the long run. He couldn't stay away. And after awhile
the two of them persuaded themselves -- for by then it was no longer his
decision alone -- that it made no real difference. They cared about each other
-- they loved each other -- whether they chose to acknowledge their emotions or
not. And as long as those feelings were there, the faceless men whom they
opposed would have another weapon at their disposal.
Then one day everything changed.
# # #
It was another season of another year. Mulder trudged wearily through the snow
on his way to the Reflecting Pool, his breath looking like puffs of smoke in the
frosty air. And each plume of vapor reminded him of the man he was going to
meet. The man who more than any other Mulder identified as the enemy.
"Agent Mulder," the Smoker said affably as the agent approached him. "Thank you
for being so punctual. Shall we walk for a bit?" Without waiting for a reply
he took a drag on his Morley, turned and started moving. And after another
moment, with great reluctance, Mulder followed and fell in step.
The two men walked together for awhile in silence. It was early morning in
Washington, and mid-winter, and the Mall was empty of pedestrians. And after a
few more moments, the Smoker spoke again.
"I'll come straight to the point, Agent Mulder," he said. "Over the years
you've caused us quite a bit of annoyance. We've allowed you to remain in
place, pretty much undisturbed --"
Mulder snorted, but didn't say anything. And after a brief hesitation, the
other man continued.
"We've allowed you to remain pretty much undisturbed," he repeated. "And
whether you choose to believe that or not, it's true. Things can always get
worse; never believe otherwise." He paused for another hit on his cigarette.
"But times are changing, Agent Mulder," he went on. "We're all growing older,
and as you might imagine, the Project is evolving. Things are at a very
critical juncture, and while it will still be many years before the crisis
arrives, we can no longer tolerate your interference." He stopped walking, and
the agent came to a halt as well and turned to face his nemesis. "It's time for
you to stop."
Mulder laughed, and shook his head, but otherwise he did not respond. In truth,
he felt a prickling on the back of his neck at hearing these words. He'd been
expecting this speech, or one very much like it, for a very long time. For
years. He couldn't help wondering why he was hearing it now, but he didn't
suppose he would ever know. Nor was that knowledge important, since Mulder
could give only one answer.
Or so he thought.
"I'm not joking, Fox," the older man said sharply, and Mulder's head jerked at
the unaccustomed use of his first name. "I promised your father that I'd
protect you, and I've done my best to fulfill that commitment. But I can't do
it any longer. There's too much else at stake, and you ... have ... got ... to
... stop."
Mulder stiffened at the mention of his father, and then he shook his head again
and spoke a single word: "No."
A faint smile touched the Smoker's lips, and he took another drag. "I knew you
would say that," he murmured. "You've always been stubborn. Much like your
mother." He shrugged, and blew a cloud of smoke into the frigid winter air.
"But it doesn't matter now. We've already taken the necessary steps." He took
one more puff on his cigarette, and added, "Every man has his price, Agent
Mulder."
# # #
The little girl has reached the top of the embankment, and even from this
distance her father can hear his daughter's crow of triumph. The girl's mother
is standing next to her, applauding and laughing in open joy at their child's
accomplishment. As the man watches, his wife scoops the girl up in her arms,
and their daughter squeals in surprised delight.
This is what makes it all worthwhile, of course. This is what allows him to
chase away the demons when they come to call. The vision of the two people whom
he loves more than life itself sharing this precious moment of happiness is what
keeps him going, and reminds him of his purpose.
Three times he has tried to leave them. Three times in the past five years the
darkness almost overwhelmed him, and he tried to flee. Once he even got as far
as the city limits before turning around to come home -- and when he arrived in
the driveway his wife was waiting for him. Her eyes were red from crying, but
coffee was brewing and she welcomed him back with a smile and a kiss. And they
sat in the kitchen and talked until dawn.
The father winces slightly at the memory. That was a bad night; one of the
worst. He still has bad times on occasion, especially when he dreams of his
sister, or of the darkness which even now is gathering all around them. But he
no longer tries to leave -- he no longer tries to fight the future -- and scenes
like the one on the far side of the brook are among the biggest reasons.
They are, in truth, the only reasons that matter.
There are still days when he cannot believe his own good fortune. To have all
this ... the love of a good woman, a daughter to care for, a home .... These are
things he never expected to know. He never would have sought these things, but
they came to him nonetheless, and now he is truly happy for the first time in
more than thirty years.
Even the knowledge of the darkness which lies ahead cannot blunt the pleasure he
takes in these moments -- not most days, at any rate. And he knows at last, as
he has known since the last time he tried to leave, that the Smoker was right:
Every man has his price.
And so does every woman.
# # #
It was a short drive back to Alexandria, leaving Mulder very little time to
think.
Part of him had been tempted to go somewhere else -- anywhere else. He needed
somehow to work through in his own mind the implications of the things the
Smoker had told him that morning. It had been a true bombshell which the man
had dropped in Mulder's lap, and the agent needed time to digest it all.
But he couldn't leave her, not even temporarily. Not on this, of all things.
And so he climbed in his car and headed for home.
Much too soon he found himself unlocking the door to his apartment. The smell
of coffee greeted him as he stepped across the threshold, telling him that
Scully was awake, and dashing his last hope of a chance to collect his thoughts.
"Good morning, Mulder," she said with an affectionate smile. "Have a nice run?"
She stood in the door to the kitchen, wearing one of his shirts and holding two
cups of coffee. Her hair was slicked back, still damp from the shower, and her
eyes were a deep, happy blue. Her face looked young, younger than it had seemed
in years.
This was her private self, the part of her which she shared only with him, and
he had finally grown accustomed to seeing it. Normally he had only to look at
her when she was like this, and a slow smile would spread across his own
features, and his heart would start beating a little faster. But this morning
he couldn't do it. This morning he just couldn't find it in himself to be
happy.
She saw the difference at once, of course. As long ago as the first year of
their partnership she had known him so very well, and now that their partnership
was finally complete she read him like a book. And so she left the kitchen
door, pausing only to set the coffee cups on the end table by the sofa, and came
to him and slipped her arms around his waist.
"What's wrong?" she asked, very softly.
He hesitated, trying to think of an easy way to break the news, but there wasn't
one. And he certainly couldn't keep it from her; he'd lied to her by omission
on this issue once before, and it had nearly cost them both everything. He
simply couldn't do it again. And when he spoke his voice was even softer than
hers.
"Scully, you're pregnant."
# # #
The girl and her mother are coming back to him now, splashing through the water
hand in hand and laughing with joy. The father stands on his side of the brook,
watching them, and as they approach a slow smile spreads across his features,
and his heart begins to beat a little faster. He can't feel sorry about this;
no matter what else was lost that day in Alexandria, and no matter what darkness
may yet lie ahead, he still has this moment, and all the others like it.
It was the chip that did it, of course; the implant buried in the back of his
wife's neck. They had known for years that it controlled certain of her body's
systems, and thus kept at bay the cancer which otherwise would consume her. But
it had not occurred to them that it might have other functions as well.
It had not occurred to them that it might also govern and monitor her fertility.
At some point in the months before that early morning meeting on the Mall -- and
of course, they would never know exactly where, or when, or by who -- a decision
had been made. Then a technician had thrown a switch, or typed some code into a
computer console, or in some other way transmitted instructions to the tiny
silicon wafer ....
And a technological miracle happened: A woman who had been told she was
infertile resumed ovulating.
Some time later, the chip reported back: Fertilization had occurred, and
uterine implantation was complete. And the Smoker picked up his phone and made
a call, and a few days later the man who would soon become a father had kept a
rendezvous on a cold winter morning in downtown Washington.
Even now the father is surprised at how easy it was to make the decision. How
simple the issues seemed; how clearcut their options. Another couple might have
terminated the pregnancy, and they did discuss that. But neither of them could
bear the thought of surrendering the new life growing within her. Not after all
they'd been through; not after everything they'd lost. This life was theirs,
and they would not give it up.
No matter what the cost.
His wife and daughter are scrambling up the near embankment now. In another
moment they will be with him again, and he will wrap them in his arms and the
three of them will hug each other and laugh, and their joy and love will enclose
them and protect them, forming a tiny bubble of light against the onrushing
darkness.
This is what the Smoker promised him, that long ago morning in Washington.
After all of the threats and cajolery and temptation and outright bribery, this
was the one offer he could not refuse. And even this he would have turned
aside, had it not already been a fait accompli.
And yes, occasionally he still has nightmares, both of his sister, and of what
he knows is yet to come. But those shades of the past and grim foreshadowings
of the future no longer rule him. He has made his choice, and all things
considered, he is happy with it.
Because every man has his price.
Fini
AUTHOR'S NOTE: This one is all Paulette's fault. She's the one who got me
stirred up on the topic of babyfic, by informing me that some folks on a mailing
list she belongs to had asserted that Scully can never get pregnant. And since
I have difficulty resisting a challenge ....
Also, special thanks and kudos to the very excellent, exciting, enigmatic and
effervescent shannono, who first helped me concoct the notion that perhaps the
chip might control Scully's fertility. That was in connection with another (as
yet unrealized) project -- and darlin', don't think for a minute you're off the
hook on that one .... ;)